Blonde Ambition
by Verdot
Summary: In which Cid and Cloud get into trouble. Boys and their obsessions.


The wind whipped around him so fast that it sucked the cigarette clean from his mouth. Damn things cost him quite a pinch of gil in these parts and it figured that he'd lost three of them in the span of twenty minutes with barely a puff from them.

That wasn't the point. He'd light another when he gained altitude.

The point was a lot of shit went down in an order that broke the natural laws of man and in a way that bowled straight over any issues he was having with his nerves and nicotine dependence.

It really all came down to a soldier, a sword, and some really fucked up hero issues.

_Goddamn Strife._

_ooo_

"No, you're missing the point. It's not about angles. It's about the feel of it."

Cloud was shopping for a new sword. Cid had no idea why he'd been dragging along, especially in this godforsaken spit of a shop. It felt a little like home, _his_ town, but rougher. The dealer spoke with a coarser drawl than he had and dressed in tan hides.

Punks were trying too hard these days.

Cid had been standing around for a half hour while Cloud took an agonizingly slow time to pick out a sword. He was glad that lances were simple and trustworthy and he knew how to make them. Not so much with swords, which required someone that spent their whole lives learning an art from some old fart and spent their last breath coughing out metallic sparks. No, swords were unnecessarily complicated.

Maybe that's why they were still standing around here.

He'd figured it would be a quick trip, really. There was almost a little bounce in Cloud's step, some kind of innocent if he wasn't fucking crazy type of boyish glint in his eye as he announced in a tone very final that _he was replacing the Buster_. If Cid were the kind for that psychology bullshit he'd be all over that, saying something about progress and moving on or something, but the truth was he didn't frankly care about that.

Couldn't say no either. Had to wonder why he didn't bring Barret along, though.

"See? See how it sits in my hand?" He was holding that damned Buster still. Cid hadn't realized the extent of Cloud's one true religion, in that he wouldn't even touch the fucking things until he'd ogled them like they were pin-up girls on sale in Wall Market.

"Uh, yeah. How's about you look over at this one here?" He was no mind reader, and hell if he wanted to be, but he'd seen the way that Cloud had almost favored one of them. It was about a half camber from The Sword, and reminded him of those annoying unmanned aircraft that had been in development before the flyboys made a fuss over them. They were sleek birds for sure, but they didn't have the girth and substance that a real craft needed to have.

Alright, maybe he understood a _little_ why Cloud was being such a picky bastard, but it still seemed like an unnecessary amount of courtship and foreplay. He needed to ask the girl to his room already before the figurative sun came up and the hangover set in.

But Cloud was being fucking coy. "No, I think I need to explain to you again what I'm _looking for_."

That was the fifth time he'd heard that exact phrase and he contemplated putting out the stub of his umpteenth cigarette out in Cloud's glassy weapon junkie eye. He bit down on the unfiltered end instead.

"Just pick the damned thing up."

"You're not a swordsman, Cid, you don't just--"

"I said pick the DAMNED THING up!"

He grabbed the handle of the sleak whateverthefuck it was called and attempted to shove it in Cloud's free hand. He'd unfortunately misjudged the weight of the thing and it nearly set him off balance, but he'd managed to keep a grip enough to just let it clatter in a rather noisy manner against the rack again.

"Hey now, I don't mind whatever marital problems you seem to be having, but take it easy on the merchandise." Oh, that dealer thought he was a funny one too, with his milk-white smirk and obviously grown out purposefully stubble. Too chickenshit to be a real man and actually wield what he was dealing. Cid hated those types.

He stood up straighter. "Pardon me, can't help it your stock is shit."

That certainly wasn't going to help with the Cloud issue, as he could see that the one time wonderboy had completely ignored the dealer's quip and was instead barely nudging the sword handle back into its appropriate place on the rack. Of course, he'd touch it to put it back in its fucking shrine. It was starting to look like only one man was going to make it out of this hole in the wall and he could damn well guarentee it wasn't going to be the deputy wannabe or the high priest of the order of the sharp pointies.

"Hey, this is some high quality steel. And improved from that butter knife your friend's carrying. That a SOLDIER weapon? Only losers carry around that kind of junk."

Oh, it was _on._

The switch was flipped immediately. No longer was he in that almost placid haze. Oh no. That dealer was better off insulting Cloud's mother in as graphic detail as possible than to insult that fucking sword. A small part of him was pissed that the idiot had made such a comment, as this meant that Cloud was probably just going to kick the man's ass and there would be no sword buying and it was possibly this ordeal would happen again...

But really, anything was better than standing around and enduring more of that coy bullshit. Besides, it had been a while since he'd had a proper fight.

"...Junk?" Cloud hissed out the word like some people cursed family lines. Cid took the opportunity to throw down his cigarette.

"You heard what I said. Any idiot can use that. Just smack someone upside the head with it. No better than a club."

For a second, Cloud looked profoundly sad, like a missionary that finally accepted the fact the locals are going to stand in line and be saved by his deity. But that was only a second.

Shit, Cloud barely had to flinch the Buster into an attack position and merely shrugged it to the coward's voicebox. Cid was rather struck by the fact that the angle at which the sword so expertly balanced in his hands wasn't that much different than the wing of a bomber, just as it banked to drop hell on some unsuspecting village. It was enough to almost make him uncomfortable.

"This precise model was designed to be multi-use in times of war. It allows for a momentum that your lighter steeled swords can't produce, so that instead of _sticking_ into flesh," he angled it back a little, "it just goes straight through it."

Cid couldn't help but just _smirk_ like the devil's own when he saw just a trickle of sweat drip down the dealer's neck. _"Hey look Highwind, he's shaking in his boots! Go on, teach him a lesson for smarting off, Lieutenant!"_ Ah, _damn_ it was nostalgia in the best way.

"What's yer name, punk?" He also knew what his job was in this standoff. What Cid F. Highwind did best.

Eyes widened and the idiot almost looked like he was going to _protest_. But he sputtered. "C-Carl."

They shared an almost outlaw look. "Carl."

"Y-yes?"

"You are right. It can be a club, too."

And Cloud flicked it again, broad side hitting _Carl_ squarely on the head. If he was really pissed off he could have easily killed the punk doing that, as the amount of steel in a Buster made it heft like a like a barreling train. _No stopping._

But it became clear that he hadn't killed him. Cloud heaved The Sword into its holster on his back and turned around, looking at Cid dead-on with a grim satisfaction.

"That one?" He pointed at the one Cid had tried to shove at him earlier. The shiny thing practically tittered like some hussy. Well, Cid imagined that at least. Adrenaline made him imagine some strange fucking things.

"Yeah. That one."

He tilted his head to the side and Cid almost felt a weight drop into his stomach. Not _again_.

"I suppose I could try it out."

Cid let out the breath he was holding while Cloud flipped the pretty thing around. Obviously it was lighter, but as Cid had found out, that was a relative term. But he really didn't care at this point. Looked like everyone was getting out of this alive.

"Afternoon, gentlemen... holy shit, what happened to Carl?!"

Of course, the town sheriff asshole had to walk in.

They shared a look again. Cid knew what to do.

"Heh, funny story..."

_ooo_

Finally, he had that blissful altitude. Open cockpit planes were his favorite, but damned if they didn't just whip the hell out of a person when they were in a hurry. They were cruising now and Cid could almost forget that he was now facing charges of aiding and abetting and whatever the hell else fancy legal mumbo jumbo that all meant.

He struck a match.

"You didn't have to tell him off like that when he didn't believe your story." Cloud. In his headset. Crackling like a false conscience in his ear. He should have left the shithead behind. Cid had only _abetted_.

"And ya didn't have to _take_ that sword either."

"I said I'd _try_ it out." Cid rolled his eyes. Cocky shit.

"You're a piss poor hero, what with robbing and injuring people and all."

No rain. Nope, not a single drop of it up here. He could feel his anger melt a little in the sunlight. Hell if the sky wasn't just a beautiful sight.

"...Not really."

It was time to change the subject. Too much static. "Alright, so once you're done with your _test drive_ of your new shiny, you going to do something with your old one?" Like build a tomb or something. Cid could see that.

"I don't know. I haven't really thought of that." Some kind of psychologist would analyze the shit out of that, but Cid took it as a good sign. Had to be. They had just partnered in some crime, even if it wasn't intentional. _Just a little harmless fun, really._

Cid inhaled deeply. It was worth the gil. "Ya ever heard of a pyre?"


End file.
